


How Magnus Loved Alec

by Wordsmith16



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Aging, Death, Immortality, Love, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsmith16/pseuds/Wordsmith16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus doesn't age, but Alec does.  How does Magnus respond to the knowledge that Alec won't be with him forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Magnus Loved Alec

**Author's Note:**

> I see a lot of fics about how Alec is insecure with aging because of Magnus' immortality, but I thought it might be fun to explore Magnus' side. He loves Alec so much, so the constant reminder that he is going to lose Alec (Alec's aging) has to be really hard on him.
> 
> I appreciate any comments and kudos!

            Magnus had seen many people grow old and die. He had lived for more than half a millennium, of course he had. It hurt, every time, and it never got easier. But it was also never so hard as with Alec.

            To the young Shadowhunter’s credit, he had long ago come to grips with Magnus’ immortality. Every once in a while, as he grew older, Magnus would catch him looking wistfully at a photograph from when he was eighteen or twenty, back when they looked the same age, and people would come up to them in the street and comment on how they were such a handsome couple. Those days were long gone, and Magnus found new reasons to be hopelessly in love with Alec every day.

            When he was nineteen, and said yes without hesitation when Magnus broached the subject of adopting the little blue skinned warlock baby that he found in the street earlier that day. Then again, at twenty-two, when Alec called him out of the blue from Buenos Aires and told him that he’d found a little Nephilim boy in the wreckage of the Institute. Magnus had portaled there immediately, to help while Alec met with the heads of the Downworld there. He remembered distinctly Alec returning to the house where they were staying and looking at him, his eyes wide with decisive hope, and saying that he thought they could do it, give Max a brother and expand their little family, if Magnus was willing.

            One day, a month or so after Alec’s twenty-fifth birthday, Magnus had come across him in Max’s bedroom after a late night, rocking the six-year-old to sleep. He caught the wisps of a melody floating out, and leaned against the doorjamb, trying to listen. He recognized it almost immediately once he heard it properly; it was from a French opera, though he couldn’t remember which one. As he watched, he saw the young warlock’s eyes dip lower and lower as he fell prey to the enchanting darkness of sleep, beckoned there by Alec’s amazingly beautiful and gentle voice. It occurred to Magnus that he had never really heard his Nephilim sing, not properly anyway. He had a tendency to hum, and sometimes sang under his breath to the radio or in the shower. But never like this, when his voice was meant to soothe their son and tempt him to surrender to sleep. It was like listening to magic, like liquid chocolate, so clear and soft.

            Then, when Alec was a little past thirty, and the looks had started coming. People started to really notice the apparent age gap, despite how good of shape Alec was in. One day in particular, Magnus had been walking hand in hand with his husband when they passed two older ladies. The looks on their faces had been poison, and he heard their comments as he walked past:

            “That is disgusting. A middle aged man like that, dating a _child_! Hmph.” Magnus felt his heart constrict, looking at Alec, who seemed perfectly oblivious, and the thought crossed his mind for the first time: _This isn’t fair to him; I know it isn’t. I am being selfish, keeping him. Aren’t I?_ But he hadn’t said anything.

            It was only after he had been quiet all through dinner and they had finally made it home, relieving their babysitter (a tired, but very willing Izzy) and kissing their eleven and thirteen year old sons goodnight, that Alec turned to his warlock and took his face gently between his hands. He kissed him then, making the whole world fall away as Magnus saw fireworks behind his eyes, like he always did when Alec touched him. Those familiar forget-me-not blue eyes found Magnus’ cat eyes and it felt as if Alec could see right through to his soul.

            “Let them talk, Mag. They know nothing about anything.” And Magnus loved him for that, for knowing exactly what he was thinking, for being able to see into his soul and know exactly what he needed to hear. And he loved how much he didn’t care about the warlock’s immortality, or what other people thought.

            And forty-five rolled around. He didn’t think Magnus was home, so Alec was in front of the mirror, wistfully combing his fingers through his hair, which sported streaks of bright silver in the midst of its dark, raven strands. When he saw, he knew that Alec was thinking about how people would stare, thinking that Magnus was one of Rafe, Max, and Tessa’s siblings instead of their father, and how they would immediately peg Alec as a single dad. It had happened before. Magnus looked nineteen, always looked nineteen, and now their oldest, Magnus’ brave, beautiful, gentle Angel Rafe, was twenty-three, Max twenty-one (though he looked eighteen), and Tess twelve. It was something that bothered Magnus, because he wanted to hold Alec’s hand as they strolled through the streets. He wanted to kiss him whenever he wanted. He wanted to ignore every sign that his love was getting older because it meant time was running out, and he wanted to make the most of every single moment. His kohl-lined eyes and bejeweled fingers were a stark contrast to the laugh lines around Alexander’s gorgeous eyes (which he thought were beautiful) and the creases around his mouth. That day, Magnus had gone over to him and wrapped his arms around him, looking at the two of them in the mirror.

            “Mr. Bane, you have never looked more handsome. I’ve been telling you for years that you need a little sparkle about you, and I think with your eyes and your hair, silver is definitely the way to go.” He watched as Alec’s eyes met his in the mirror, and he saw so much love and trust there that he felt his heart melt.

            “Is that so, Mr. Bane? Well, if a little silver makes you happy, then it is well worth the years put in to getting it.” His voice had deepened with age, and sounded like honey, smooth and calm, to Magnus’ ears.

            It got harder and harder, though, for the warlock to ignore that time was running out. Alec passed fifty, then sixty, and he had more trouble moving. He wrenched his back during training frequently, and was moved to a desk job at the Institute while Rafe and Clary and Jace’s oldest daughter, Amatis, took over as Heads. They watched their children fall in love and saw Rafe and Tess get married and have children and fight battles and make their own way in the world. They helped Max come to terms with his immortality, and watched as it tore him and Cecily Carstairs apart, and bring him and Tavvy Blackthorn together. And Magnus watched, as year after year left Alec with shaking hands and slower movements.

            Until the day he dreaded above all else came. Alec didn’t get out of bed one morning, only two weeks away from his 71st birthday. It was a good, long life for a Shadowhunter, but to Magnus it seemed that it had passed faster than the blink of an eye. After all the grandchildren had left and their three beautiful children moved outside to wait, Magnus crawled into bed beside his Nephilim and laid his head on his shoulder, taking the thin, wrinkled old hand in his.

            “Please, Alexander. I’m not ready. I need you here with me. Please.” He felt Alec’s free hand cover his and looked up to meet those brilliant eyes, still as sharp as they had ever been, even as they were worn with age.

            “We knew, Mag, from the start. We get the time that is given to us, and no more. We knew this would have to come to an end.” Sitting up, Magnus leaned over and kissed him gently.

            “But what if it’s not enough time? What if my heart is breaking, and it can never be fixed.” One of the shaky hands, now steadier than it perhaps had ever been in life, came up to cradle the warlock’s face.

            “Oh, my love. I have lived a good, long life. My friends have long passed into the next one, and I should join them. You know how much Jace hates to be kept waiting, and Izzy is even worse.” His warm laugh escaped his lips, and Magnus felt the tears being to fall freely, knowing that after today he would never hear that sound anywhere but in his memories. “You’ll look after them, won’t you Mag? Our babies? Especially Max, because he needs you more than the others. This will be him in but a few short years, watching Tavvy wither by his side. You will remember that pain is meant to be felt, and to be shared with the ones that you love and that love you. Rafe, Max, Tessie. Your sister, who just lost Jem. Cling to her. And remember that you always have a place in New York, with our family. Always.” Magnus pressed his forehead to Alec’s, unable to stop his sobs.

            “Oh, Alexander. I will never be able to love again, not like I love you. I promised you so long ago that you were my last love, and I meant it. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

            “And I love you, Magnus Xavier Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn. But try to be happy. Please, for me.” It was one last look between them, then he breathed his last breath. And Magnus felt it. He felt it deep inside him, like a blade to the heart or a punch to the gut. He was inconsolable.

            Even a hundred years later, when it was only him and Tessa and Max left, he still felt that ache, the hole where his heart used to be. The hole left by a young Shadowhunter who had taken hold of his life and changed it completely, and the children he had lost, and the grandchildren, and the love that still resonated through his bones, and he suspected would for the rest of his days. And he lived his life with everything around him reminding him of those golden days.

            To his surprise, he found that, as much as it really hurt, he didn’t really mind the remembering.


End file.
